Homecoming
by withalittlehelpfrommyfriends
Summary: Claire is in trouble. Short oneshot, just for fun.


I know this is super short! I just didn't think anything else needed to be said.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters herein. If I did, Peter would definitely be my sex slave, but, apparently, he's not. *sigh*

* * *

He came out of nowhere, that man, the one with the tan coat. He smiled crookedly at me, and butterflies erupted in my stomach as he told me how much better things got after high school.

God, I hope he's right.

And then the other man, the one with the powers, he came after Jackie and I. He threw me against the wall when I tried to help, and he sliced Jackie's forehead open without a knife. She bled all over the locker room floor and her blinding white cheer shoes while my broken arm started to heal itself quickly.

His dark brown eyes caught on me as I stood up, breathing becoming easier when the lesion on the side of my mouth scabbed over before disappearing completely. He still held Jackie by the neck, up against the lockers, but he stared at me with a look of total hunger.

Jackie was too far gone to wonder why I wasn't dead. All she said was, "Run..."

And I did.

He was there again–the man with the smile, the handsome one. He caught me when I raced out from the gym doors, asking if I was okay. His eyes were alight with the same kind of worry that I was sure ravaged my own.

I couldn't find how to speak. I just turned, and the man's eyes followed.

The dark-eyed man stalked down the hallway, and I started to flee again. "Keep going! Run!"

I sprinted out of the red double doors, letting out a scream of fear as I heard running footsteps behind mine. Throwing all of the inertia possible behind my legs, I jumped up the pavilion steps, tripping and falling on the third one.

A figure raced toward me, and I screamed again. I was going to die right here, in front of my high school.

But I didn't. It was the alum, not the killer. He pulled me up by the arm, and raced up the stairs, me having little trouble keeping up.

At the top, he spun his body around mine protectively, facing the dark man at the bottom of the steps. We both gasped for air, and I watched him think quickly on what to do next.

There was one thing I desperately needed to know. "Who is that?"

He ignored the question, looking at me intensely with his brown-green eyes. "Go to the stadium, okay? Find people, find lights–he doesn't want to be seen!"

I glanced down the pavilion steps to the man at the bottom. He stood there silently, scarily.

"What about you?" I nearly shouted at the one in front of me. There was no way I'd leave the man that had saved my life to die himself.

"Don't worry about me. Just go–GO!" he shouted, pointing at the field, and, with one last parting glance, I did.

But I stopped halfway there, swiveling around. Being caked in blood seemed too conspicuous for a high school football game. I heard a sickening 'crunch' somewhere in front of me, and the instinct in me yanked my feet back into action, back towards that villain and that hero.

He lay motionless in a pool of his own blood.

And I questioned why I'd even come back here in the first place. Maybe it was just the macabre part of me, somewhere in the back of my mind, that needed me to see a fallen hero.

He was dead. He died in my place, and I didn't even know his name.

I couldn't help it–I brushed the hair out of his face. There should have been at least some respect here for the brave, handsome man.

And he gasped for air, coughing violently while he sat up. He stared at me, mint and cinnamon, with wide eyes.

"What happened?"

He looked down at his legs, broken and splayed out at odd angles. Gingerly, he pushed them back into place, and I watched in slight amazement as the gash near his temple healed over.

His eyes wandered to his left. "Where is he?" the man asked, suddenly panicking.

My eyebrows furrowed and I shrugged helplessly. "Who could just get up and walk away like that?"

You know, besides me...and, obviously, you.

The man looked slightly frightened. "We need to find help–that guy needs to be kept away from you."

I felt a weird, warm feeling in my stomach. He was scared for me.

I stood up, dusting the back of my bloody, red and white uniform off. "I'll find someone."

While I hesitated at the door, I heard him call me. "Hey–what's your name?"

I turned back to the man. "Claire. You?"

"Peter."

My hero had a name.

I smiled at him, and Peter had a slightly desperate look there this time. "Are you the one? Saving you, did I save the world?"

My heart sank slightly. "I don't know–I'm just a cheerleader."

Peter didn't look the least bit disappointed. "I don't think so."

* * *

Sooo? Any thoughts?


End file.
